


I'll Carve Your Name Out Of The Sky

by AndreaLyn



Series: The Last to Know [4]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: It's not that age crept up on them unexpectedly -- they've got kids, they've got grandkids, and Michael has more greys than Kyle has appointments to dye his out.(It's just that sometimes, that age catches them off guard when they realize they're not so young anymore, but maybe being old and married and having a family is better)
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: The Last to Know [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429096
Comments: 38
Kudos: 168





	I'll Carve Your Name Out Of The Sky

Michael comes home to a disaster scene. 

He drops his keys in the bowl in the front hall of the cabin, passing by the kitchen (where the kids are doing their homework) to check in. There’s controlled chaos there, with chips scattered around the table and the four of them bickering and ignoring their homework, but Michael’s presence seems to get them focused again.

What _isn’t_ such a controlled disaster is what’s happening in the ensuite bathroom. 

Michael wanders in to see black splotches all over the nice imported marble tiles he’d put in five years ago. Breathing deeply, he calms himself as he looks up to see Alex sitting on the edge of the tub, a brush in hand and painting his hair with a bowl of hair dye. He says nothing at first, only gets a wet towel and crouches to start scrubbing out the splotches on the ground. 

“I was going to do those after,” Alex insists, barely turning to look at Michael.

“After they’d set and ruined our floor?” Michael complains, but it’s not the mess he’s annoyed about. It’s what Alex is doing. “You know, when I found all those greys in my hair and complained about it, what did you say? What was it? You said, ‘Michael, it’s okay. You’re turning fifty next year, it’s normal to have some greys in your hair. It makes you look handsome and distinguished’.”

“Uh huh.”

“So imagine my surprise to come home and find you dyeing your hair.” Michael rights himself and tosses the towel into the sink to soak, closing the toilet lid so he can sit on it and face Alex to get in his line of sight. “What’s going on? I like your whites, same as you like my greys. What’s so wrong with getting older?”

Alex scowls, ducking his head away in that embarrassed way that means he doesn’t want to admit to the issue because he perceives it as stupid and small. It’s why Michael doubles down, reaching out for Alex’s left hand to thread his fingers in, rubbing his thumb over the wedding ring on Alex’s finger.

“Alex,” he says, with a hint of warning that says he’s not going to drop it.

“Someone called me grandpa at the farmer’s market today,” Alex complains. 

Michael clears his throat, but it’s not in time to stop the amused snort that escapes him. 

“Michael!”

“What!” Michael protests. “You _are_ a grandfather. Did you have the baby with you?”

“Sarah was pushing him next to me,” Alex grumbles. “I don’t look that old!” he protests. “I know we took in Sarah when she was older, I know that she had Aidan young, but I’m not that old, Michael,” is his stubborn, wounded protest as he keeps aggressively dyeing his hair. 

He’s getting new stains everywhere, and Michael doesn’t want to spend the next few hours cleaning it up. Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Michael grabs Alex by the wrists in the middle of dyeing it, reaching for the hair cap. “Alex,” he says, and helps position it on his head. “I’m not gonna stop you dyeing your hair, but if this is all because some stranger called you grandpa at the market, then babe, I gotta get you some better self-esteem.”

Alex finally relents, letting Michael pry the brush out of his fingers. “I don’t like thinking about it.”

“What? Getting older?”

“It’s not for the reasons you think,” Alex says quietly. “I know fifty-five isn’t that old,” he admits, moving to the side so Michael can sit on the edge of the tub with him. “I know that we’re both in good health and we’ve got the kids now, not to mention the ones we’ve taken in and sent out there in the world, but fifty-five when we let ten years slip away from us…”

Michael feels it – the moment he understands – and it smacks him in the chest.

“I don’t want to be this old, because my hair turning white means that we’re only getting older and we’re never getting those ten years back. I know I told myself that I’d come to terms with that, but I don’t know if I have, and when that guy at the farmer’s market today called me ‘Grandpa’, it hit me that I’m never going to be twenty-one again and that’s fine.” He rests his chin on Michael’s shoulder. “But that also means I’m never going to be twenty-one again and with you. We’re never going to be young and learning how to be together. We had to suffer to get where we are and that’s the part I didn’t come to grips with.”

Even after all these years, Alex has a habit of catching him off guard. Michael threads their fingers together to squeeze, his healed hand proof that scars don’t have to mar you forever.

“We’re here, though. I mean, if you want another go, we could ask Liz about the cloning technology we found in the ship,” he teases.

Alex groans. “Don’t joke about that right now, I feel just insecure enough that I might take you up on it.” 

Michael adjusts the shower cap on Alex’s head and stares at him fondly, because only his husband could be this sweet about his insecurity over getting older. He bows his head to press a kiss to Alex’s shoulder, knowing that no one is going to notice that Alex did anything too different because his whites are barely coming in, but still…

“When this washes out, I want you to think about leaving it be,” Michael requests quietly. “I’m going grey and if you don’t, then people are gonna think that I’ve got a hot trophy husband, seeing as you still look like you’re in your early forties, Alex,” he tells him bluntly. “You’ve aged _ridiculously_ well, and the only reason you got called Grandpa is because you were literally helping out with your grandson, who probably also called you Pop Pop,” he says knowingly, giving the cap a small tweak.

Alex has ducked his head down, rolling his eyes, which is the usual stubborn Alex habit that lets Michael know that he’s getting through to him. 

“Or,” Michael offers, “we do this a different way.”

“What?” Alex asks suspiciously. 

“Well, you can keep dyeing your hair, but then you have to let Annalise dye hers, too.”

The horror on Alex’s face means that it’s exactly the right tack to take. “No,” Alex says stubbornly. “Nope. God, you’d think a child of mine would know better than to want to dye their hair _lime green_. She said no to the blue, no to the purple, no to the good green. Lime green,” he echoes with disgust.

His husband, the style critic. 

Months later, when the dye washes out (and stains Michael’s shower tiles, because he can’t catch a break), he notices that Alex doesn’t go to the store and buy a new box. These little acts of defiant ageing bravery deserve some reward, which is why Michael waits until all the kids are done their homework and playing video games so he can corner Alex in the kitchen.

He sneaks up on him while he’s washing the dishes, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck as he wraps his arms around his waist, drifting in until they’re swaying.

“This is nice,” Alex says, prying off his rubber gloves, “but I’m lost. Did I do something to deserve this level of sweetness from you?”

“Are you saying I don’t always treat you like you’re the most handsome man in the world? Clearly I’m running the risk of losing my hot husband,” Michael scoffs, and slides his fingers through Alex’s hair to ruffle a few strands of it, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the distinctive white patch that’s grown in now that Alex isn’t dyeing it. “I wanted you to know how proud I am that you’re letting this happen,” he murmurs, voice low so the kids don’t overhear and barrage them with the usual ‘ew’ and ‘gross’ and ‘can I have the money for my therapy now?’. “I also wanted you to know how very _sexy_ I find it.”

Even after all these years of marriage, Alex finds himself surprised that Michael can have this kind of impact on him. He shivers and glances back with an open mouth to stare at Michael’s lips, from where he’s resting his chin on Alex’s shoulder. 

“Bedroom?” he ekes out.

Michael’s smile is a slow thing, sleepy and playful and lovely all at once. “Bedroom,” he agrees, with a light pinch and push at Alex’s hip to get him exactly where he needs to be.

It could definitely be worse, Alex reflects. At least there’s no male pattern baldness in his family, because what does it matter what color his hair is, when Michael’s hands threading in and gripping it feels the exact same whether it’s black, blue, purple, pink, or white.

* * *

There’s a comment on Alex’s latest Instagram picture that Michael doesn’t understand. 

He’s been in this position before, but never to the point that a little research didn’t help him out. Liz and Max are no help, and when he asks Kyle about it, the man had snorted and told him that Michael’s answer lies under his own roof. “Ask your kids,” Kyle had advised, which means that this is one of those _young people_ things that’s only going to make Michael feel old.

Of the four foster kids in the house right now, three of them are too old to give Michael an answer without making him feel like a complete idiot.

“Luke, get over here,” he shouts to his thirteen-year-old.

He catches him rolling his eyes, but he rolls off the couch to wander into the kitchen to stare at Michael. “What, Pops?”

They’ve had Luke since he was only three and despite the fact that he’s not theirs by flesh and blood, he’s never known anything else. Some of the older ones that have come into the house in their early teens or past ten only ever felt comfortable calling them Michael or Alex, but Luke’s always treated them like his fathers. It’s another reason he feels comfortable asking him instead of the older three. He might just make it out of this without being completely mercilessly mocked.

Michael loads up the photo and turns it towards Luke. 

“Okay,” he says warily. “It’s Dad.”

It’s not just Alex, it’s Alex captured perfectly in the golden hour. He’s with Maria and her kids at a pumpkin patch, laughing and smiling as they crouch over to unearth gourds. Alex in the picture is the most handsome thing he’s ever seen in his life, and under it, one of Alex’s army kids has written:

_dude, ur looking triffing! keep it up cap!_

Googling that had pretty much left him with more questions than answers, which is why he has to come to his child for help.

“Not the picture,” Michael mutters. “What Private Hampstead wrote. The triffing thing. What the fuck is triffing?”

“Language?”

Only his own kid would sit there admonishing him for his language. “You know I trust you to use it only when appropriate.” Michael shoves the phone out again, feeling like he’s getting to the point of desperation, which isn’t a good look on him, but the truth is, he doesn’t care. “Why does urban dictionary say that triffing means that he could be someone’s daddy?”

Luke looks almost ill as he gives Michael a pleading look.

“Pops,” he pleads. “Don’t make me explain this.”

Clearly, he’s not getting it.

“Okay, so, triffing,” Luke says. “It’s like a combination of DILF and fuckable,” he says that one word like he’s waiting for the earth to swallow him whole for getting it out, “and Dad bod, all at once. So, when they say that Dad is …you know, it means that a bunch of guys twenty years younger than him think he’s super hot.”

Of course Alex is. He’s wearing his puffer vest in the picture and he’s holding a baby in his arms, and the whites in his hair have given him a dignified George Clooney vibe. 

“They want to fuck him,” Michael deduces. 

Who says that he’s a genius with absolutely no social skills? 

Luke looks absolutely miserable, shoving the phone back at Michael. “Pops,” he whines. “This has got to count as child abuse,” he protests, the tips of his ears absolutely pure red. 

Michael takes the phone back and admits that maybe this isn’t a drawn-out conversation that he should be having with his kid. He dismisses him with a wave, which Luke sees and _sprints_ away at the first opportunity. Michael doesn’t move from the picture, settling down in the cozy chair in their living room, scrolling through other comments on Alex’s photo. It’s not just Private Hampstead who’s commenting, but so many of the kids in Alex’s class. 

He should be jealous, but he’s not. 

By the time Alex gets home, Michael’s preening like a proud peacock, and he must look somewhat alarming, because Alex sets his keys and wallet on the front table, approaching Michael cautiously. 

“Why do you have that look on your face?”

“What look?” Michael protests, as innocent as a man can be.

“The one where I need to check if there are children around, since you look like you’re about to pin me to a flat surface,” Alex points out, ducking his head down the hall. “I can hear Luke in his room, can we not traumatize this one?”

It’s not their fault that the cabin (even renovated) only has so much room and that their kids have walked in on them once or twice. Michael always locks the doors, but unfortunately, they have children who’d learned how to pick locks.

Michael pats his lap, which Alex takes as an invitation easily, settling down with a groan. He leans down to roll up his pants-leg and detach his prosthetic with a relieved sigh, doubly so when Michael starts kneading his muscles. “Luke helped me with your last post,” he explains. “How you look _triffing_.”

Alex groans audibly. “That stupid word? I had to get my class to explain it to me.”

His class, the one he’d returned to even though he keeps saying he’s going to retire from teaching, only then he gets bored and goes back. It’s like having children in the house has helped to strengthen Alex’s patience and resolve, and now he takes the kids on the base as a challenge. None of them have broken him yet, but as Michael loves to say, there’s always time.

“I think you look very triffing,” Michael whispers. “But only I get to triff you.”

“You sound like one of those old men who’s trying to keep hip with his grandkids,” Alex warns him with protesting scoff. 

“Do you not want to get triffed, Alex?”

Alex gives him a cutting look. “If I didn’t take my leg off, I’d be walking away, you know,” he warns him, as Michael wraps his arms around Alex’s waist, focusing on his powers to help keep Alex aloft. “I’m not rewarding you for acting like you’re so cool and down to earth just because you probably tormented one of our children to learn that word.” Michael gets to his feet and sets the prosthetic gently down behind him, carrying Alex towards the bedroom. “I mean it!”

“Yes, dear,” Michael says dutifully. 

“But,” Alex admits, as Michael gets him laid out on the bed, his smile turning mischievous. “I guess if you’re right there, you can triff me until I come my brains out.”

Michael knew that Alex would come around to see sense. He hauls off his t-shirt and puts it on the door as a warning to any children who might wander their way, before tackling Alex onto the bed, muffling his delighted laugh with a kiss that promises so much more.

* * *

It's a quiet day in the house, which means that of course something has to go wrong. 

The kids are all at school and Michael’s home from work early enough to get caught up on the articles their oldest has been writing for a physics magazine, making notes on small ways to improve when he hears the sound of thumping and Alex’s voice crying out with alarm. The papers are thrown aside and Michael bolts to his feet.

“Alex!” he shouts in a panic, hurrying downstairs to find Alex at the bottom of the basement stairs with a laundry basket in hand. He pries it away and crouches beside him, desperately panicked and _furious_. “You’re not supposed to come down here and do the laundry,” he snaps. “That’s for the kids to do, you know that. You know your leg’s been off these days with the prosthetic, that you need to strengthen it, that…” He’s rambling because he’s so scared, and when he stares at the way Alex’s hand is trembling and the way his wrist is abnormally turned, he knows that it’s broken. “ _Alex_ ,” Michael exhales softly. 

“I had the time,” Alex protests. “I thought that I’d just do the one load and my leg’s been better lately, with the personal training sessions.” 

Michael guides Alex to sit down on the last step of the stairs, sliding his hand below Alex’s until their fingertips are touching. He’s not a doctor and he knows that they could call Kyle, but that would mean a house visit and at least one of the kids freaking out about Alex’s fall down the stairs. 

The last thing they need right now is for the words ‘retirement home’ to pass anyone’s lips. 

“You trust me?” Michael asks. 

“Always,” is Alex’s instantaneous reply, even though it’s followed by confusion. “Wait, Michael, why do you want to know if I…”

He goes quiet instantly when Michael turns their hands. His palm is glowing with the soft pink light that requires complete concentration. Noah had taught them they had access to more than one power, but it’s taken Michael almost a full two decades to be able to heal anyone. It’s not something that comes naturally to him, because he doesn’t understand the way the body works like he does the world.

He’s healed three times before, and always someone under his roof. 

This will be the fourth time.

“ _Michael_ ,” Alex breathes out reverently, watching as the broken bone in his wrist rights itself. Now that he’s had practice, he doesn’t get as sick as he used to, but it always leaves him with a lingering sensation of regret. 

He wishes that he could have done this four decades ago when Alex had grown up with bruised ribs and contusions and split lips. What he would have given in order to press his hand to Alex’s warm skin and heal him of all those pains and aches. 

It’s better late than never, he feels, and as he watches the wrist slowly right itself, the next part is his favorite and why it is that of the three former times he’s healed someone, it’s been Alex.

The shimmering colors begin to appear and Michael feels their connection open up, like a curious child prying open a door just a sliver. Eventually, the connection will solidify and they’ll be able to reach through the bond for one another, but for now it’s tentative and soft.

“Please make me a promise that you won’t do that again,” Michael pleads quietly, rubbing his fingers over Alex’s wrist and over the handprint mark (which Alex will have to cover with long sleeves for the next while). “What if I wasn’t here? What if it was more serious than just your wrist?”

These aren’t worries that he used to have. When they were younger, a broken bone meant that it would take time to heal, but it wouldn’t be a problem. They’re not _old_ , but they’re old enough that Michael can hear Kyle’s warnings in the back of his mind as he lists statistics about how bone density isn’t as strong and how many diseases are rampant in hospitals. One little surgery can turn into so many other problems.

At least, for Alex.

Michael’s still never been sick and any broken bones have healed properly with the right medical attention (namely, a splint here and a healing touch there). “I can’t live without you, especially not now,” Michael protests weakly, knowing that Alex will feel all this through their connection, but it feels like it means more to say it. 

“Michael,” Alex breathes. “It was a broken wrist.”

“Today, maybe,” he stubbornly launches into an argument. “What if you’d broken your leg? Or the prosthetic broke? I spent a long time working on it, and it could’ve shattered. Or you, you could’ve shattered.” He’s leading himself in a spiralling collapse, the panic edging in and trying to take over. 

Alex reaches out for him, abandoning the laundry to collect Michael in his arms, holding him tight. He can feel Michael’s panic and for that reason, Michael forces himself to do the breathing exercises he’s been taught.

It’s not fair that Alex has to feel Michael’s panic because he’d been healed.

“I think we both need to go back upstairs,” Alex says calmly. “Do you want to do that with me?”

Michael feels himself nodding, even though he wishes that somehow he could have healed himself so that he didn’t feel this unmoored and unsteady. It’s Alex who ends up leading him back up the stairs with a hand on his back, gently leading him like Michael will spook if he doesn’t do it cautiously. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Alex says, when they reach the top of the stairs. He leans in to press a kiss to Michael’s temple. “If it was worse, you still would’ve been stupid and healed me. You’d rebuild the prosthetic. I already know that you’re probably going to put in something extravagant and ridiculous like an elevator,” he deadpans.

Michael doesn’t flinch, but it’s not like Alex is _wrong_. 

“You’re okay,” Michael echoes out loud, because he’s fairly sure he needs to say it to make it seem real.

Alex nods, and suddenly Michael feels like he can breathe again. “I’m okay.” 

There’s no escaping hurts, aches, and pains. He knows that. Logically, he does, but Michael hates the idea that Alex could break a bone so easily when he’d been in the house. Michael lets Alex’s steadiness relax him, though he doesn’t really let Alex out of his sight for the rest of the day, suggesting chores that need to be done together.

It's clear that Alex knows what’s going on, but he also adores Michael, so he lets it happen. 

At dinner that night, Alex wears a long-sleeved shirt so that he can try and hide the mark from the kids. He may say one thing about not caring that Michael had to heal him, but he also knows that it’s such a rarity that if one of them were to see, they’d never let him get away with it. While the shirt’s a good idea, it doesn’t do the trick. He’s reaching to put the bowl of salad on the table when his sleeve pulls up, revealing the shimmering marks of Michael’s healing touch. 

Ben reaches over to trap Alex’s wrist in his (as gently as he can), pushing the sleeve the rest of the way to reveal the whole shimmering handprint. He eyes Alex with concern, his attention flicking over to Michael. “Pops,” he says, alarmed. “Why does Dad have a healing mark on him?”

Their eldest, Ben, is also the one who’s overly concerned about them at all times. He’s their most empathetic child, so at the first sight of this kind of harm, it looks like he’s connecting the dots and coming up with the worst-case scenario. Sometimes, Michael wonders if he isn’t the one who instilled that trait in Ben as he’s grown up.

After all, didn’t he spend most of today freaking out about Alex?

“It was nothing,” Alex tries to dismiss as he sits at the other head of the table. “I took a bit of a fall.”

“Dad!” Annalise shouts at him, and Ben’s concern manifests in both Luke and Emily’s faces. Four for four, all the kids are freaking out. Michael hates feeling so smug about this, but he does, because he’s glad that Alex will have to face the fact that he can’t write this off. “You said you’d be more careful. What happened?”

“He was trying to do your laundry because he was having a good pain day,” Michael says, because one of his rules in this house is that they’re honest with the kids. 

Alex clearly doesn’t like that Michael is observing that rule from the scowl he lands on Michael, sitting at the head of the table. “It was an accident,” he says calmly. “I’m not going to wake up tomorrow with a new leg, which means that I have to live with the one I’ve got. If I let it stop me from living, then I wouldn’t get to do laundry or play with you or even go to the grocery store. I have to manage it.”

“You have to manage it,” Annalise mocks. “You don’t _have_ to go down dangerous stairs and…”

Michael reaches over to gently rest his hand on Annalise’s palm. She’s prone to anger in a lot of the same ways that Michael had been, seeing as they’d taken her in late, after she’d already gone through several bad families. “Anna,” he says softly. “He knows.”

The kids quiet down, which is good, because Michael can see the way Alex’s shoulders are tensing up. They make it through the rest of dinner without talking about the injury, with Michael leading the conversation away to talk about the kids’ grades, their school lives, and what their plans are for the weekend.

When it’s washing up time, Michael leads Alex to the master bedroom so he can kneel at the end of the bed, slowly removing his prosthetic. 

“She’s worried, that’s all,” Michael promises, because he can tell that Alex is still obsessing about what Annalise had said. “And she’s _scared_ , the same way I am. You know she hasn’t had anyone like she’s had us. You made her think about a world without you, the same way that I freak out when I think the same thing.”

With the prosthetic set to the side (alien parts shimmering), Michael settles on creaky knees to crawl into bed with Alex, wrapping his arms around him so that he can be the big spoon tonight.

It’s not their usual arrangement, but he gets the feeling that that it’s what Alex needs.

“I don’t want you to turn me into some hapless, useless house-confined invalid,” Alex says quietly. “I’m not.”

“I know,” Michael says softly.

“Sometimes you forget,” Alex reminds him gently, not wanting to be cruel, but needing Michael to understand. “I’m going to get injured. It will happen, and so will you,” he says, turning to look over his shoulder at Michael. “That’s life, sweetheart, that’s just what happens, and you can heal it, but you can’t prevent it. And I don’t want you to,” he adds. “I don’t want to be swathed in bubble wrap because you’re scared. I’m scared too, about you and the kids, all the time, but I don’t want that to stop us from having a life. Tell me you understand that.”

Michael nods, not trusting himself to speak, but he gets it.

“Good,” Alex says and lets out a slow exhalation, grabbing at Michael’s hand to tug it tighter around his waist. “I can feel you worrying through the connection,” he murmurs, eyes falling shut as he rubs his hand over Michael’s, back and forth, as gentle as he can. “Let me lull you to sleep.” 

“You can try,” Michael allows.

He should know better than to challenge Alex. After all, he’s been married to him for more than twenty years now, and Alex has never met a challenge that he can’t take on. Within five minutes, Michael’s heart rate has already started to calm, and within twenty, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, soothed by Alex’s steady breaths and the way he’s rubbing Michael’s wrist.

With the connection, it’s almost dirty play, but it’s exactly what he needs.

He goes to sleep surrounded by Alex’s love for him and the promise that although Michael can’t prevent harm from coming to Alex, he can absolutely make sure that he’s there on the other side to make it better where he can.

He'll make sure that’s enough for him.

* * *

“Alex, why am I blindfolded?”

“It’s a surprise!”

“It’s not a surprise, two of our children told me what to wear tonight so I wasn’t, quote, an embarrassment at my own retirement party, unquote.”

“…Why is it that none of our kids can keep a secret?”

“…and that means the blindfold is making me think that you’re just being kinky and you want the excuse.”

That seems to do the trick, because Michael feels Alex’s fingers at the back of his head, slowly undoing the blindfold and pulling it away. 

He blinks and looks up to see the flashing neon of the Wild Pony sign, and that makes him _laugh_ long and hard. “Seriously? We’re hosting my retirement party at a bar?”

Alex gives him a fond grin. “Don’t ever say that we don’t know you. Come on,” he says, tangling their fingers together so he’s holding Michael’s hand and pulling him inside. 

Everyone, bless their idiot hearts, still shouts _surprise_ at him as loud as possible, even if Isobel looks fairly bored to do it (she’d also texted him to warn him about the clothes, which makes him wonder if he’s really dressing that shoddily these days). 

Michael feels the emotions swelling, which is weird, because he hadn’t felt emotionally attached to the job every day he’d turned up to work. It’s not that being a mechanic is dull work and it’s not meaningless, but he thinks he’d always compared it to the hypothetical life he might have had – the one where he’s a professor, where he shapes young minds. 

Instead, he’d spent his days putting parts in cars and fixing dents. 

When Sanders had retired years ago, he’d handed the business over to Michael. Alex had been the one to suggest they turn it into something a little more refined, which is why Guerin Auto Shop operates out of a retail space on Main Street instead of in the junkyard these days. They staff three other mechanics, and Michael’s been training two of their eldest foster kids as apprentices while they go to school online to learn the business side of things. 

They’ve had eight kids come through their house and Michael’s tried to make sure that every one of them has a life they might have dreamed about. 

It's still pretty incredible when one of them turns around, looks at Michael’s life work, and says: _That, I want to do that_.

This feels less like retirement and more like passing the torch.

“All right, all right, now that this complete lack of surprise has happened, I’m gonna say a few quick words, then we can party because I’m sure Isobel bought too much booze, as usual,” Michael teases, giving his sister a fond smile. “And if I give her any more grey hairs,” he continues, pushing his luck, “then I think she might kill me and turn this into a wake.”

He only barely ducks the cork that’s pelted his way, lifting up a glass of champagne that Alex hands him.

“I’ll keep it short,” he promises. “Thank you everyone, for coming here to celebrate my business, but it’s not over. My part in it is, but I’ve got two kids who work with me and decided that they’d say yes when I offered to hand the business to them. So, please raise a glass,” he encourages, “but not to my retirement. I’d like to celebrate Lucy and Robert,” he says, finding two of his eldest kids in the crowd. “When Alex and I took the twins in, they were stripping cars of parts in Roswell to sell and get by. Now, I gave them a place to do it, but not much has changed.” He beams as he acknowledges them with a nod. “I know you two are gonna be great,” he vows. “And I’m so proud that you’re following in my footsteps.”

“To Dad!” Robert shouts, as if he can somehow gain back control of the attention.

“To Michael,” Isobel agrees. “Happy retirement,” she shares, kissing his cheek. “Mention my age again in a crowd and I will melt the parts of your brain that haven’t already started to go,” she whispers sweetly.

Michael smirks at her, knowing that the poking affection hasn’t changed and won’t. “Of course, Iz. Besides, I’m sure you’ve already booked the appointment to dye it blonde. Just remember to take Valenti with you,” he quips with a smirk, seeing as Kyle hasn’t stopped dyeing his hair in ten years. 

He uses his powers to get the jukebox playing, jumping down from the makeshift stage so the attention can shift off him. 

The party continues around him and there’s so many people that no one notices that the man of the hour has removed himself from all of it until Alex shows up with a bottle of champagne and two glasses thirty minutes later.

“Found me, huh?”

“I clocked you the moment you made your escape,” Alex says knowingly, and slides into the booth beside Michael, his good knee creaking as he does. “I know you well enough to know that you wanted some time to watch the crowd.”

Alex gets him, he’ll say that. This might be his retirement party, but it’s also serving as something else. It’s all his friends and his family in one place. Each of their former foster children have come with their families, Max and Liz are here, and Isobel is there, one arm hanging off of Kyle’s shoulders, the other clasped tightly on her drink.

They’re all here to celebrate _him_ , but it’s not the spotlight Michael wants. It’s the warmth at the edges that he wants to bask in.

“This means I’m going to have more time with you,” Michael says, overwhelmed with how happy and eager he is. 

He’d thought, stupidly, that maybe it would seem like too much. He and Alex still have their own hobbies and separate interests. Retirement for Michael means that he’s going to have more time with Alex than he has in decades, but instead of worrying, he’s so excited by it. He’ll still have his alien projects, Alex will still have his classes, and there’s always the kids to think about, but he can’t _wait_.

“We could travel,” Alex says. “Your fake passport’s holding up really well, if you and I wanted, we could go see the world.”

“If we wanted,” Michael says, wrapping his arm around Alex to pull him in close. He kisses his temple, whispering, “We could see the whole universe,” against the warm skin. 

Michael’s eyes are closed, but he feels the way Alex’s face shift and he knows he’s beaming. 

“I have always wanted to see the stars,” he admits. “And now, we’ve got all the time in the world to do it together.”

Yup, Michael thinks. His instincts had been right. Retirement is going to be a damn good next step, if he gets to spend it all with Alex, doing whatever they want, in whatever corner of the universe they decide to make their own.

* * *

“Hey,” Michael whispers in the middle of the night. “It’s time.”

Alex sleepily turns over, groaning as he checks his watch on the nightstand. Michael’s already dressed and packed, but he waits as patiently as possible for Alex to get ready. He knows it’d been a risk to wake him up in the middle of the night (what with Alex truly valuing his rest above all else), but it’s their wedding anniversary and this year, it’s timed perfectly with a cosmic event. 

Outside, meteors are showering the sky, which had given Michael the perfect idea for a gift. 

They’re at the point where physical gifts only fill up the house with more chaos. Seeing as they’ve got four children under their roof, more knickknacks are the last thing either of them want to bring in. Tonight, the sky will light up with a free show, and Michael intends to be there to witness it and give it to Alex as proof that even without something tangible, he’ll always have something to give him.

The night is chilly as they get out of the truck, but Michael’s glad they’ve got nice thick horse blankets and one another to get through the cold. 

Seeing as how he’d woken Alex from his sleep, Michael’s not surprised that he’s basically a walking zombie. Michael hands him a coffee (to a grateful grunt) and bundles him into the car, buckling him up and giving him a pillow so he can nap as they drive out into the desert. Before he heads to the driver’s seat, Michael brushes a fond kiss to Alex’s temple.

Alex murmurs in confusion.

“…ichael?”

“Fuck, you’re out of it,” Michael laughs, loving him all the more for it. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart, I’ll wake you when we’re there.”

Alex hums his acknowledgement softly and Michael smiles at him as he gets going. He keeps the radio low, opting to hum and sing Alex’s favorite songs under his breath until they’re a few minutes from their destination. That’s when he leans over to gently nudge Alex awake, knowing that as soon as the show gets started, Alex will be happy to have come out here.

Maybe not so much until then.

“Here?” Alex mumbles, still not capable of full sentences. 

“Yeah, we’re here,” Michael agrees and nods to the back. “Everything we need is back there.”

It only takes Alex a few minutes now that he’s alert, setting everything they need nearby. There’s a bottle of champagne, the blanket, and Alex. Michael’s absolutely knows the order those things go, in terms of temptations. 

His joints creak and bones ache as he settles down on the blanket with Alex, knowing that they’re not going to be able to spend the whole night out here on a flimsy blanket the way they did when they were younger. 

“God, we’re old, aren’t we?” Alex laughs when he hears the sound. 

They might be, but Michael’s not surprised by it. It hasn’t hit him out of nowhere, but instead came in little discoveries of happiness. Each reminder of their age has come through the knowledge that they’ve got a happy life. They have family and children, they have trusted allies and they have stories built from a good life together.

“Maybe,” Michael murmurs, turning as he lies on the ground to face Alex instead of the stars. “Does it matter, if I get to say that I’ve grown old with you?”

It’s one of the sweetest things that Michael’s ever said to him, and they’ve had decades of sweet exchanges, emotional vows, and every endearment in between. 

From the glisten in Alex’s eyes, he’s overwhelmed by the sweetness of the promise, so it’s the exact right thing to say. 

“You’re missing the show,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

Michael shakes his head, staring at Alex with the same feeling he had over thirty years ago, when Alex talked about him looking away. He never wants to look away, not ever, and he’s been so lucky to have married the love of his life. The stars can’t compare, even if this had been his idea to come out here and do.

“I’ll be here when they’re done,” Alex follows up with, squeezing Michael’s hand as he shifts them so that they’re both lying on the blanket, staring up at the meteor showers above, a whole other world that Michael had given up on striving towards, when he’d realized that everything he wants and needs is on _this_ planet.

Alex doesn’t say it, but Michael hears it in the words.

Because while Michael will never look away, Alex will always be there. It’s what he’s learned over the years of loving him. He’s there. He’ll always be there, and Michael intends to offer him the very same in return.

They may be old, but Michael means what they said.

It doesn’t matter that they’re old, it only matters that they got to do it together.

He’s not the first to learn that secret to loving someone, but Michael also feels pretty confident he's not going to be the last man on Earth to learn that morsel of crucial information either. 

He burrows his face in Alex’s neck, holds him close, and basks in the warmth of what he’s earned, watching the beauty of the universe reveal itself to them. 

Michael turns and grins as he takes in the look of Alex’s profile – so changed since they first met at seventeen, but in ways Michael would never want to give up – and knows that the stars, no matter how beautiful, can’t hold a candle to his husband.

“I feel you staring,” Alex warns, not looking away. “And I can hear you thinking.”

“You’re beautiful,” Michael tells him. 

“I’m old,” Alex scoffs.

“Beautiful,” Michael reiterates, and doesn’t care about Alex’s wrinkles or the way his jawline isn’t as strong as before. He leans in to brush a kiss to the space behind his ear, near white hairs and new freckles from too much time in the sun. He’s the most incredible man in the galaxy and Michael’s so lucky to have him. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and holds him close. “One more year down from my promise to love you forever.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness to it, and he turns to look at Michael, breaking his gaze away from the celestial beauty above. “You still owe me plenty of those.”

“And I intend to deliver.”

“Good, because I’m not letting you go, not until we’re so old, we can barely move.”

That’s ages off. For now, Michael holds Alex snugly in his embrace as they curl up together until they’re more like one comfortable person, staring up at the stars. Right here, with his nose buried in Alex’s neck, he’s as warm as he ever gets both from Alex’s embrace and the warmth that floods him for being where he is. 

He's never been happier, and never mind that he’s old. Everything is _perfect_ and proof of a life well-lived.

If they could stay like this forever, Michael would.

If they only get this for a night, that’s good too, because tomorrow they’ll face something new – and it will be tricky and challenging and new, but they’ll be together, just as they have been for all these years.

And for Michael, that’s all he needs to know, to know that the rest of their lives are going to go just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> That's that for this series, with them living a happily ever after life with all their kidlets and grandkidlets and, of course, each other.


End file.
